


Secret Sins

by dreamlittleyo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Kiss, M/M, Romance, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 03:05:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4771082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: In which Sam hasn't seen his brother in years, and Dean has figured some things out in the meantime.</p><p>[<a href="http://dreamlittleyo.livejournal.com/249274.html">Prompt: Sam/Dean, Tense</a>]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secret Sins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deirdre_c](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deirdre_c/gifts).



"Dean." Sam gaped across the threshold. His grip was white-knuckled on the doorknob as he stared at his brother standing in the apartment hallway. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Fuck you, too." Dean shouldered past Sam into the apartment. There was no anger in the words. If anything Dean sounded sheepish beneath a veneer of stiff bravado.

"Is everything all right?" Sam hadn't seen his brother since high school—since the day Sam announced he had no interest at all in a future with their father's law firm, and even less interest in following John Winchester's high-profile footsteps. The irony was, in other circumstances Sam might have considered a career in law. But the baggage was too heavy, as was the weight of their father's expectation: that Sam and Dean would both buy in as partners in the family business. Sam didn't see the same inevitable path before him. When he'd left, he had left for good.

"Of course everything's okay." Dean glared at Sam as the door clicked shut, but the expression wasn't convincing. "You gonna offer me a beer, or what?" Dean reached for his tie with the question, tugging the knot loose and popping open the top two buttons of his perfectly starched shirt. 

Sam had seen his brother in a suit before, but suddenly he was struck by a distracting truth: Dean looked damn good. The charcoal gray dress pants looked like they'd been perfectly tailored for him—they probably had—just like the suit jacket sitting smoothly across Dean's broad shoulders.

When Sam had last seen his brother, Dean had been taller than him—just barely. Now Sam felt like he towered over his brother. The revelation raised uninvited heat beneath Sam's skin, and he prayed the blush wouldn't show on his face.

"Sammy? Beer?" Dean's tone was too deliberate to be truly casual, and Sam fought the urge to squirm beneath Dean's piercing stare. It was enough to jolt him out of his own head, at least, and Sam forced his clumsy legs to motion.

"Sure. Yeah. Beer." He turned down the only hall leading deeper into his apartment—dark, because Dean had no respect for things like other people's sleep schedules—it was well past midnight, and Sam himself was only up because of the student papers he still needed to grade. "Kitchen's this way." He kept his footsteps as light as he could in deference to the neighbors in the apartment below, but there was no helping the noise of Dean's heavy stride. At least Sam didn't have a roommate at the moment. Small miracles.

"Nice place," Dean muttered. It didn't sound like sarcasm, but it was hard to credit as sincere—especially considering Sam hadn't even flipped the hall light on when he passed. Sam liked his apartment. He kept it clean, and spare, and comfortable. But it was small. Simple. Not the kind of place Dean was apt to be impressed by, considering the size of their father's house, or anywhere else Dean had surely lived since.

The kitchen was cramped, even for an apartment this size, but Sam wasn't ambitious when it came to meals. A fridge, a functional stove, a tiny table wedged beneath a curtained window: he didn't really need more than that.

Dean's face showed no hint of disapproval when Sam hit the switch on the wall and brought the tiny kitchen alight.

"Pale or stout?" Sam asked as he swung open the fridge. They were the only two choices he had on hand. He didn't entertain much, and he'd never particularly enjoyed drinking alone.

"Whatever you're having," Dean answered, and Sam barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

He hadn't been planning on a beer for himself. The honest truth was, Sam's tolerance was shit, and he didn't trust himself around Dean with lowered inhibitions. Who knew what he might admit. Sam may have left to get away from John Winchester, but there were other reasons he had never called once he was gone. 

Sam knew their childhood had been fucked up—knew he and Dean had grown up too far in each other's pockets to ever have a normal relationship—but he was smart enough to recognize the secretive sensation of _wrong_ in his feelings for Dean. 

He closed the refrigerator without fetching the beers, then turned to face his brother. The front of the fridge was entirely bare, so there were no magnets to dislodge or menus to knock down when Sam leaned against the fridge door and crossed his arms. He found a cryptic expression on his brother's face. A strange mix of piercing focus and cautious hesitation. 

Sam's eyebrows arched. He kept quiet as though calling Dean's bluff, and did his best not to be distracted by the slant of his brother's throat and the generous line of his mouth.

Instead of explaining his presence, Dean gave a strained smile and said, "You look good, Sammy." There was tension in every line of Dean's posture. He looked ready to bolt, a revelation that made Sam's head spin. Sam had never seen his brother back down from anything or anyone—least of all from Sam himself.

"Why are you here?" Sam asked for the second time since letting Dean in the door. His brother's eyes narrowed, and Sam softened his voice to press, " _Dean_. Come on. Talk to me."

Sam had walked away after college. He had found his own way—his own life—but it had taken time. He didn't need to do any fresh math to work out that it had been almost six years since he last spoke to Dean.

The slump of resignation in Dean's shoulders was barely discernible, but Sam was accustomed to watching his brother too closely. He braced himself, suddenly fearing all kinds of worst case scenarios: Dean was sick; their father was dead; the company was going bankrupt. 

Instead, Dean squared his shoulders and said, "I figured out why you left."

Cold shot through Sam's chest, and for a moment he couldn't breathe.

"Hey, easy, it's all right." Dean was approaching him with wary caution, like Sam was a spooked animal. "It's okay. I'm not mad."

"No." Sam shook his head in firm denial. "You don't— That's not..." _Dean_ wasn't the reason Sam had left. He must mean something else. Sam was jumping to the wrong conclusions. He was being defensive about something Dean couldn't possibly know.

Except Dean was right in Sam's space now. He was peering up into Sam's eyes from too close. The brush of fingers at Sam's jaw nearly made him flinch, but somehow—impossibly—Sam held his ground.

"Breathe, Sammy. It's really okay."

"No," Sam protested hoarsely. He felt caught-out and guilty. Suddenly there was no escaping the realization that Dean was seeing straight through him, all the way down to Sam's most secret sins. "Dean, I'm so sorry. I never meant—"

Dean's mouth silenced him. Sudden and unsure, and so unexpected it took Sam several seconds to recognize it was a kiss.

Dean was kissing him.

And Sam was just standing there, dumbstruck and overwhelmed. By the time Sam's brain caught up enough to react, Dean had already begun to retreat, a horrified look on his face—embarrassment and guilt as he interpreted Sam's shock for disinterest. Sam could see the wheels spinning in his brother's head. He could see Dean already trying to find a way to backpedal.

 _No_ , Sam thought. _Fuck that_. Selfish of him, but he wasn't going to let Dean call do-over now.

Before Dean could retreat more than a single step, Sam grabbed for his brother, snaking one arm around Dean's waist, using his opposite hand to grab Dean hard by the nape of the neck. Unlike Dean's tentative kiss, Sam's was greedy and fierce. He ignored the faint voices of reason and protest at the back of his mind. He took Dean's mouth like he was entitled to it, moaning in relief when Dean's lips parted at the first demanding press of Sam's tongue.

Rational thought and the inevitable sense of _wrong_ would assert themselves soon enough. For now, Sam was too selfish to think about anything beyond the feeling of Dean beneath his hands.

By the time they broke apart, Sam's chest was tight—from feelings he hadn't let himself dwell on in years—or maybe just for want of air. He was winded, breathing hard. And abruptly terrified to open his eyes. He didn't know what expression to expect on Dean's face.

Dean's hands were clinging to him tightly, though. Dean hadn't made any move at all to evade Sam's crushing hold. When Sam opened his eyes, he found Dean watching him with startling intensity. Dean's mouth was barely open, his lips swollen from the strength in Sam's kiss. There was something dangerously like hope in Dean's eyes.

"How did you know?" Sam asked, his voice a desperate whisper.

A relieved grin spread across Dean's face. "That's confidential."

Sam scowled, though the expression didn't carry much force. "Fucking jerk."

"Yeah," Dean agreed amiably. The grin on his face softened to a fondness Sam hadn't ever expected to see again. Sam's head and heart were spinning, struggling to keep up with the changing landscape. 

An hour ago he had been sure he would never see his brother again. And much as it might have hurt, he had genuinely believed it for the best. After all, how could he bear the agony of Dean learning the truth, of the horror and disgust inevitable on his brother's face?

But Dean was _here_. He knew the truth—somehow, impossibly, he _knew_ —and the glint in his eye looked nothing at all like disgust. 

Sam couldn't understand it. He could barely believe it. Which meant Dean had some goddamn explaining to do. But Sam wasn't going to waste time chasing after answers when he had better things worthy of his focus.

"How long can you stay?" he asked.

Dean smiled wider.


End file.
